Rage
by ChemVex
Summary: When Elliot loses an uphill battle with the squadroom lockers, who will come to his rescue?
1. Water Cooler Bloodstains

((This is my first published fanfic, ladies and gents, so be nice! This is an extension of Rage, from a season number that has escaped me at the moment, when Elliot gets into a fist fight with the lockers. Who comes to rescue him, I wonder? I own nobody.))

The last clash of flesh and metal echoed through the dark squad room, abandoned for moonlighting activities of an undisclosed nature, snuggling with missed spouses, or snoring. Elliot sank to his knees, his breathing heavy as he ran his hands to clasp behind his head; blood glistened, trailing down his raw knuckles, seeping into his shirt, once pure and white, tainted only by sweat.

Deep breaths worked to harness the emotions that had been unleashed. Elliot Stabler had lost control. His passion, his rage, could now only be hidden by gloves or gauze; his emotions were branded upon his hands, for the entire squad to see, each member of the New York Police Department, his captain, his neighbors, future victims, the perpetrators, and his partner

_His partner._

It wasn't as though his fire had been much of a secret. A steady stream water cooler chitchat was difficult to maintain in a department of the NYPD that required more chasing and interrogating that deskwork and boredom, but through the grapevine, without help of singing raisins, detectives and uniformed officers had come to know of the blaze that was Detective Stabler's temper.

The maintenance staff crept about the building in muffled thuds, opening doors and pacing the halls. Weak from his outburst, Elliot remained grounded, expecting to be discovered by the homely janitor, Fred, some minutes later. On cue, the door to the bullpen swung upon, a creak the was inaudible with the bustle of the average workday signaled a series of excuses Elliot could whip out, justifying his late stay, his bruised knuckles, painted crimson.

"Elliot?" The strong, attractive voice was certainly not Fred's.


	2. Fluorescent Angel

**((Thanks to all my kind reviewer people. : ) Sorry it took so long to update, hope everyone had a ducky holiday!))**

_"Elliot?" The strong, attractive voice was certainly not Fred's._

But it was enough to yank Stabler from the ground, standing to face Olivia, his wounds concealed behind his back. "Olivia, what are you doing here," he almost barked, instantly cursing his tone.

She approached him slowly, a blinding light accompanying her presence as Detective Benson flipped the switch. Calming from what Elliot perceived to be a near heart attack, Olivia returned her gun to the holster at her hip. "I stopped in to talk to Casey, and I heard a crash. What happened?"

"Nothing." His reply was gruff still. Without thinking, he reached for his jacket in the maltreated locker that had recently suffered a brutal assault, allowing it to remain open, concealing the bloodstains that decorated the opposing side of the door.

"Elliot, do I look like an idiot," she asked, sternly, her concern evident. "What did you do to your hands?" A detour to her desk. Somewhere beyond a world of misfiled cases and Butterfingers wrappers, a First-Aid kit remained hidden.

Fishing it out in record time, his angel approached him, only to be met with more contempt. Or what appeared to be such a feeling of hatred. "Olivia, leave me alone, it's not…"

"Elliot, I am not going to sit here and pretend that everything is fine. You are falling apart. Everyone can see that. I am your partner; I am supposed to protect you. I'd be letting down my team, my captain, you, and myself by letting this continue. Like hell this isn't my business," she shouted, even catching Stabler by surprise. "Now get over here and give me your damn hands."

He began to protest, but her eyes, oh, those eyes, ordered his mouth to close, his feet to approach her, and his eyes to follow hers. Olivia wrapped his cuts, and no words passed between them as she worked. "Go home, now, Elliot. If you don't sort things out with someone, tomorrow, I'll talk to Cragen." Her own emotions were fuddled, and she was unsure of how to handle Elliot's obvious suffering.

She couldn't save him.

Not from this enemy.


End file.
